


Bad Day

by Chiru



Series: Calendar [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Lovers to Friends, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, No Angst, One Night Stands, Roommates, just casual and fluff, that leads to a lot more, this became so much bigger than it was gonna be, what a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiru/pseuds/Chiru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is feeling like shit, so his day follows suit, but a vaguely familiar freckleface saves it from being a complete disaster. From there on, things get considerably better...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greeting

**Author's Note:**

> Holy damn I haven't written fanfiction in nearly 10 years. I dunno if I remember how to do this :c Not that I ever knew. Ha
> 
> There wont be much/any drama and angst here. Not much fluff either. Just (b)romance, my sad attempts at humor and the occasional smut. I really just wanted to get these two dorks in the sack. ~~and then out of it, and the back in. da fuck~~

Somedays Jean simply felt like shit. Everybody had good and bad days, it was normal, and so he didn't worry. Or at least, he tried not to. Though he knew. He knew that days like these, days in which he wanted to stab anybody that dared approach him, wanted to push into the pond the kids that happily played in the park, wanted to jump in front of the cars that passed in front of him just to spite the bloody red light telling him he couldn't – days like these never ended well. He was too much in control of himself to actually give in to any of these violent impulses (though Eren would argue, he truly wasn't that stupid) but, record had it, these days always ended up just as shit as he felt.

He'd tried to call it instinct, his superior mind reading early signs of approaching danger, but he didn't need to be a brainiac to know that half the time he caused the crap himself. Bumped into a less than friendly looking stranger in a less than friendly part of town (probably subconsciously on purpose too- why else was he even in the damn slums?!) and earning himself a quick ticket into a dumpster, ignoring the chores he was meant to do in favour of telling the world to go fuck itself and having his mom chewing him out and sending him to the worst summer camp ever instead of allowing him to spend time with his friends, stuff like that. Yeah, they weren't the brightest things to do, and he had been pretty much asking for it, but there was no way he'd been asking for it on the day that his parents told him about the divorce, or the day his dog got hit by a car. And no he didn't make it and no Jean was not ready to talk about it. Probably never would. The fact that he doubted that he'd properly closed the fence that day was also absolutely unrelated. He wasn't ready to talk about it, let alone accept that that incident too probably fell under the category of “things he'd provoked himself”.

So, one way or another, the day was doomed to end with him either beaten to a pulp or scrambling pathetically about to find a quiet corner where he could cry his eyes out without worrying about any annoying pests to bother him. He knew without a doubt he preferred option one.

The weather was eerily nice. Seriously. The sky was blue, counting a total of three white clouds, doing all in their fluffy capabilities to avoid hiding the sun for even a darn minute. As everything that day, this annoyed the living fuck out of Jean. It was November, it was cold, and he would've been absolutely fucking fine if it wasn't for the goddamn rays sticking to his black hoodie like flies to a horse- I mean, honey.

He dropped on one of the once-green wooden benches, and stared at the river, fingers subconsciously starting to scratch at the chipping paint. One lonely seagull sat on the railing in front of him, while a cloud of birds (Jean had no idea if they were all seagulls too, or maybe pigeons or goddamn eagles, considering how much he knew and cared about bird life) circled in the air. He wondered if that bird was some sad representation of himself. A pathetic existence apart from the rest, earthbound when the rest spread their wings and flew off to find happiness... Yeah, bullshit, that's what. Jean wasn't pathetic, he was strong, smart, hot, generally just fucking great, that's what he was. Or, at least, normally. He was taking today off of being awesome. Ok, fine, so maybe he was a little like that retarded looking bird with the retarded black spot that make it look absolutely retarded if you considered it an eye. Like a bad drawn picture by a 5 year old... which he supposed was a little redundant. All art by 5 year olds was like a pukeparty of colours and orgy of random lines.

Maybe, just maybe, if he stayed here and only went back to his apartment when that stupid sun had set, he'd get away from whatever was looming over his head today. Or maybe he'd get mugged once dawn approached. Or maybe this damn cold wind and the sweat from the fucking sun would get him sick as hell. Maybe he should just jump over the freaking railing and hope the water is shallow enough for him to break something during his landing. Or catch pneumonia or something. 

He sighed.

A small chip of discoloured green paint lodged itself painfully under his nail and he jumped up from the bench. “FUCK!” He stared at the innocent little shit of a public seating, then at the a tiny blob of blood settling where the paint has broke his skin. Seriously?, he wondered. Like, for real? Great. This day really promised. 

He looked around and the goddamn stupid bird was still just sitting there, barely looking at him. “Fuck you too.” Jean said, and grabbed a stone to toss at the animal. Naturally he missed, seen his great luck today (normally his aim would be absolutely impeccable, Jean guarantees), but at least the retarded seagull had the decency to fly off. Thank the lord for small things, he supposes.

Not keen on returning to his empty apartment just yet, he went to grab a coffee and a doughnut first, and stalled around the shop for a little while. He wondered if this loitering about would provoke today's downfall, but little did he know, it actually saved him from worse. 

Once the last sip of sour liquid and sweet dough was gone, he sat a lazy course back home. As he came closer and closer, the feelings that something was wrong started to settle in. Vividly. Sirens, people with concerned faces hurrying about uncomfortably. Yeah, something was up, and Jean would bet his right nut on it being The Event that'd fuck up his day properly. Following the worried glances, he set his eyes upon the blue sky, counting far more than the previously counted fluffballs. Stifling dark clouds invaded the sky, making Jean stop mid-track. Smoke. Well fuck. Fuck. Seriously?... No no no, this had to be some sort of joke. Yap, just a bad joke. A really bad freaking joke.

His feet had set course without him really ordering them to, and picked up pace quickly as his mind tried to deny which was becoming more undeniable by the step. He rushed ahead, eyeing the pillar of smoke, wrapped around the last corner and followed the trail downwards with his eyes to find the burning apartment complex. His apartment complex. His apartment. His home. All of his goddamn things except for those he carried on himself at that very moment.

He quickly went through his pockets. Wallet, mobile, some gum that he'd forgotten and was starting to look pretty gross, keys. Oh yes, well thank heaven, what oh what ever would he do without his keys? He stared at the metal objects for a while. Three keys. One to his apartment, one to the building's main door and one to the locker he used to own back in high school. He had no idea why he'd never tossed it out... Better late than never, he figured, and angrily threw the keys away, into an alley, as hard as he could. Somebody passing by him made a comment, and he cared so fucking much he didn't even bother registering what they'd said.

He took a deep breath, strangely calmed after having discarded the ironic object. Another deep breath, and his eyes went back to the building at the end of the street. Slowly he continued his approach, pacing leisurely until he joined the rear of the small crowd, kept at a distance of the danger by the yellow tape.

Jean looked around. He recognized a few of the faces in the crowd, having seen them before in the lobby or on the stairs or in the elevator. The fact that his pain was shared by others did absolutely nothing for his mood. Well, at least he wasn't a sadist, he figured. They say it's in times of danger that one learns to know oneself, ait?

Lastly, finishing scanning his surroundings, his eyes fell on a young man, sitting just on the other side of the yellow tape, a few steps away from the firefighters and ambulance action, and met a glance of understanding. Eyes locked on each other, Jean and the other man shared a moment of mutual self-pity. It was... heck, it was great. Seeing the horrible feeling he was so immersed in reflected in those big brown eyes, looking at each other but knowing both of their emotions were focused solely on themselves and had no space of anybody else... surprisingly, it turned out to be everything he needed. He didn't remember the last time he'd felt so equal to somebody else. No assumptions about needing to help, no expectations to let down, no fake sense of inferior- or superiority from either side... 

The brown eyes softened, a smile spread over the Unknown's lips, and it cleansed Jean of any lingering stress and worry. He smiled back. There was no other reaction he could have had. The other one gave a small nod, signaling for Jean to approach. He did. There was nothing else he could have done. The other guy got up and met him at the yellow tape. Jean could smell the smoke on his clothes.

“Hi.” Said the guy.

“Hey.” Answered Jean.

“So... guess we don't have to worry about paying the rent next week.” The guy, just a few inches taller than Jean, spoke and titled his head a little. The joke was dry, not even aiming to be funny, but there was really no other way to handle this situation calmly. 

“Yeah. Maybe I'll quit my shitty job to celebrate.” Jean squinted. The fellow too had a familiar face. He lived on the floor bellow Jean, if he wasn't mistaken. Lived. Used to live? Whatever. What was his name again? Something short... Mark? … Had he always had freckles? Jean assumed he'd probably never paid much attention.

“You're Jean from 508, right? I'm Marco from 401.” Marco (close enough) spoke, apparently reading Jeans confusion with complete mastery of facial interpretation.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “though perhaps 'was' is a better term now.” He stared at the smoking building. He hadn't actually seen any of the flames since he'd arrived, but the amount of smoke surely promised a lot of damage.

Marco snickered into his smile. “I'm going to assume you're still Jean though.”

“Nope,” Jean smiled back. He wasn't sure if Marco's smile was infectious, or if this lightheaded conversation was just the absolutely best fucking thing in the world right now. “From here on I am a changed man. I shall be known as Kirk. Nickname? The Benchwarmer. I call dibs on the one closest to the drinking water fountain.” He added the last part quickly, as if he was ready to dash off to claim his spot with actions if his words were insufficient.

“Then I will take the one closest to the dumpster behind the Italian restaurant-” he lifted his hand as he recognized Jean's impulse to object, “No trading.”

“Damn.”

There was a short comfortable silence as they both considered their future as park inhabitants as their previous living environment crumbled in the background.

“So, Jean, do you want to get insanely drunk?” Marco suggested, still all smiles, rainbows and freckled unicorns. “We can bar hop the entire night before retreating to our designated benches.”

Jean didn't have to think even half a second. 

“Fuck yeah.”

Getting plastered off his ass with somebody who just barely wasn't a stranger sounded like the single most sane thing to do right now.


	2. Drinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco get drunk and fool around. Just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno how to write sexy-times :/

Jean let his head drop against the table. The sound was lost in the clamour of the bar, but the small pain was multiplied as a prelude of hangovers to come. Sobriety still far away, the ache lasted only a moment before it disappeared under the haze of alcohol and a soft yet careless touch.

“What the hell are you doing...” Marco giggled as he passed his fingers through Jean's hair from across the small round table. The young man was a happy drunk. Strangely happy seen the reason they were getting plastered. Jean found this surprising- or, maybe one should say he would find it surprising if it wasn't for his current lack of mental capacity, courtesy of his inebriation. He liked it though. Marco's constant giggling and smiling and laughing and touchiness. Jean found himself wanting all of the other man's attention. All of it. He wanted every giggle, every smile and every laugh to be at him, for him, about him, due to him. And he wanted all the touches.

They were nice. This was nice. He liked this.

What he didn't like, though, was how his finger hurt. He'd hit it against his glass a few times and that shit throbbed like fuck. When he grabbed for his beer to take another long tug, he did it again, and this time pulled his hand close, staring angrily at his bleeding nail. Bleeding nail?... Right. The stupid paint from the stupid bench by the stupid river. He tried to glare the pain away, earning himself another giggle from the man sitting opposite of him.

“Seriously, what are you doing...?!” Marco wasn't even trying to contain his entertainment. Then again, with the amount of alcohol the two had consumed, there wasn't much containing of any kind going on. Except for perhaps that of the bladder. Jean at least was far too lazy to get up and walk all the way to the toilet. Like, where was it even? He looked around, couldn't find the door, decided it would be too far away no matter where it was, and let his head fall against the table once more, where he met the momentary pain again, followed by the playful yank to his hair.

“Oh my gods what are you doing, hahahaha- you're so funny...”

Jean turned his head so his cheek squeezed against the sticky table to meet Marco's eyes. He didn't bother lifting his head. He figured his neck deserved a break. He was gonna say something, at least he guessed so, because his mouth opened for a moment, but had no clue what he'd been meaning to contribute to their highly intellectual conversation anymore. He didn't bother closing his mouth. Fuck that... The dork in front of him smiled cheerfully, and pressed his cheek against the table in very much the same manner as Jean did, staring at him with sparkly eyes.

“Hi.” He said.

“Hey.” Jean answered.

“Oi,.” The angry bartender interrupted. “You two. I am not serving you any more. Go home.”

Jean and Marco looked at each other, reflecting on the last word, the destination they were being send towards. Then, at the same time, they burst out into a perfectly synchronized near hysteric laughter. It sounded creepy to all surrounding, but it was (really bad) music to Jean's ears.

A good forty minutes later they stumbled into an overpriced single-star hotel room, and Jean made a wild dash for the bathroom.

Marco paced around the small room, observing it's plain features as if he was at a friends place for the first time. He slid a finger over a dresser and opened a few drawers, not sure what he was hoping to find. Probably nothing. He must have found it then, since the dressers were, unsurprisingly, empty.

“Oh man...” Jean stumbled back out of the bathroom and dropped on the bed closest to it. “Pissing is so great. I love it. It's awesome. You should try it someday.”

Snorting softly, Marco climbed back to his feet and slid onto the bed next to Jean. Sitting up, he looked over the other man, legs comfortably spread, arms wide open, eyes closed, hair slightly mushed and subtly waving. His smile was nearly permanently carved into his features.

“You're really funny...”

“And I think you've said that a good...” Jean tried to think, but his mind disagreed with the notion. “... a good many times tonight. You get really repetitive when you're drunk...” He opened his eyes, and mirrored Marco's smile at him.

The black haired man felt his body turn weak, and his smile could grow no further.

“'Cause it's true.” He spoke, and then he leaned in, body hanging over Jean's, looking the other man deep into the eyes. His face hurt, as his smile tried pointlessly to spread further. Jean smiled back, a little out of it, but ever so comfortable. There was no tension, no stress, no fear, no worries, just the drunken haze and the comforting presence of each other.

Marco stroked Jean's cheek gently. “You're hot.” He noted, his tone just as entertained and honest as it had been the whole night through.

“Pffft...” Jean chuckled. “You only noticed now?” He laughed, but the sound came out softer than he had expected. And yet, completely within expectation, Marco leaned down, Jean pushed up, and their lips met and spread, tongues instantly greeting with happy twirls. Jean placed a hand over the nape of Marco's neck, holding him close while the other clumsily swung a leg over his waist, straddling him. And effectively falling against his chest as he did.

“Pffffffff- you're so drunk...” Jean sniggered, tickling playfully at the other's hairline. Marco, face against Jean's neck, bit at the skin as payback, and he earned himself a soft hit against the head combined with another short laugh.

Pulling back up, faces once more hanging close, Marco kissed Jean again, and was met with the same entertained and strangely enthusiastic response he'd received before. “Yeah well... you're drunk too.” He rocked his hips forward a little. “And hot.”

The friction pulled a small whine from Jean, but the sound merged back into a laugh. It was odd, how the atmosphere was drenched in laughter, while their bodies were so close. How pathetically comfortable both felt, besides barely knowing each other at all. “I bet you're too drunk to even fuck properly.” How those words escaped Jean's lips without even a hint of embarrassment.

“I'll try my damnest.” Marco licked Jean's lips, more like a dog than a sexy lover, before sitting back up. “Scout's honour.” He pulled a hand up to salute, but was broken off midway his attempt as his seat moved, Jean nearly throwing him off with the buck of his hips, if not for the tickling hands that'd found their way to his own.

“I've never fucked a boy-scout before.” Jean answered, smiling mischievously as he grinded upwards, his laughter softening as other parts of him became considerably harder. Marco's laughter too had softened, but the smile on his lips hadn't let up in the slightest. A blush coloured his lips. “I'll be sure to initiate you properly, grasshopper...”

Despite his raging boner, Jean couldn't stop himself from laughing at that. “Yo- you've never been a scout, have you!?” He asked, hands falling from the thighs on top of him. Marco replied with a shake of his head, before grabbing the brunet's hands and placing them back on him and leaning down, careful not to crash against the other's chest this time.

With their hips moving leisurely they kissed again, deeply, enthusiastically, playfully. But just a little longer than before, and when they parted again, both out of breath, the mood has shifted to become a little more serious too.

Jean recovered first, and in a moment of inspiration, he grabbed Marco by his sides and swung the both of them around to invert their positions, trapping the freckleface under his body. Surprisingly, nothing or nobody was harmed in the wild move, and he pressed their lips back together, locking a little gasp between them. The way the long legs wrapped around his waist made his head go even more blank, though he had honestly considered it impossible. If he'd thought about it, that is.

His hands slid down the other's back, below the belt line of Marco's jeans, and the incentive was met with a pleased little whine. Encouraged, he tried to push the trousers down the man's ass, but found the cut too tight, and his target flinched when the jeans scraped into his skin. “S-sorry, jus-” He pulled away a little to guide his hands to the other's fly, but was interrupted as Marco forced them back together, legs tightening around his hips, arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely.

“W- wait-” He tried to undo the button, but it wasn't mean to be. He couldn't get it done, not with his blank head, alcohol induced disabilities and the damn guy not stopping to suck on his face.

“M-Marcooo-” He whined, the despair caused by his straining pants starting to show. The other man pulled back, and the evil glint in his eyes answered whether it had been intentional or not. 

“Ugh, you're horrible...” Marco innocently pecked his lips as an answer, an odd action as it came together with a bold hand grabbing right at his junk through his trousers. Jean gasped, his whole body, previously embers, now suddenly fire. He moaned and bucked into the touch.

His voice snapped something in Marco too, and his strangely sober hands were annoyingly fast at opening both their flies and pulling out two throbbing erections. Jean instantly forgave the offending hand as it wrapped around the two of them and squeezed and holy fucking gods it felt so fucking good!

Not a concern in mind he rutted into the hand, against the other, towards the sweet friction and warmth. He let part of his weight fall in front to meet the other man in a open mouthed sloppy kiss, more tongues twirling and occasional teeth clinging and sweet fucking moans than anything else. It was good. Fuck, it was good.

He only realized his eyes were closed when he was starting to approach his climax, which, to be honest, never kept him waiting long, especially not when he was drunk off his ass. He recovered his eyesight to meet a view that nearly made him choke. The young man laying under him had his mouth slightly open, waiting for the recovery of their kiss, eyes closed, freckles nearly lost under the soft glow that painted his cheeks, hair messy against his sweaty skin, twisting his neck slightly with the tempo of his own strokes. 

Despite his state of mind, fucked up in a million ways, he still burned this sight into his memory, because holy shit, the guy looked so fucking hot and was so close and fucking hell they were frotting the living crap out of each other. Jean felt himself burn at the realization, and at a especially accurate twist of Marco's wrist combined with a pleased little gasp from the one in question, Jean shivered and gave in to his climax, coming into the serving hand and onto the other man's shirt.

As Jean rode out his orgasm, barely managing to keep himself from crashing down on the man below him, Marco too managed to reach his own, a sweet moan expelled from his saliva coated lips. 

It took ages for either of their breathing to recover, and this time Marco beat Jean to it. He hummed, pleased, and glued a little peck to the other lips. Jean gave in, arms finally buckling from under him, and came crashing down, falling half on Marco despite his very best efforts. The black haired young man chuckled and pushed him off to the side, rubbing part of their stuff onto the brunet's hoodie and nearly throwing him off the suddenly creepily tiny singles bed. Jean managed not to fall, and slung an arm around Marco, more to avoid his drop than anything else. Marco hummed again, and sounded quite satisfied, especially so when he grabbed Jean's arm and turned his back towards him, hugging his hand to his chest. “Night...” He said, sounding already more asleep than awake.

This suited Jean fine, as he too felt sleep creeping up on him. “Night...” He answered drowsily, and like that they fell asleep, spooning on top of a singles bed in a shitty overpriced hotel, bed as much as a mess of their activity as Marco's shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being used to British spelling drives both me and my spellchecker crazy.
> 
> Also I wanted to make the summary "Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my boner, so rub it maybe", but my friend who's doing me the great favour of beta reading said it was no good... :c


	3. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following morning brings the unexpected recovery of something strangely comfortable.

A shift of movement woke Jean up, and he was greeted by the soft humming of a yet distant headache. “Ughh...” He groaned, stuffing his face into the mattress, dreading waking up. He knew of previous experience that the pounding in his head would only worsen as he let sleep slip away, so he was all in favour of stalling for a few more minutes, and ignored whatever had awoken him to the best of his abilities.

“Sorry...” Sounded a soft voice, and the bed seemed to swallow him deeper as the person next to him lifted from it. A few considerate steps, the gentle closing of a door, and slowly but certainly, conscious thinking engulfed him, bringing with it a violent and repetitive stabbing to the back of his head and the realization of last night's happenings.

His apartment complex had burned down. He'd made friends with one of his former (?) neighbours. He'd gotten drunk and slept with said new friend. All in one night's notice. He wasn't sure if it'd qualify as his most eventful night ever. He could recall a few college parties that could rival it, but it certainly made his top 10. Maybe even top 5. And depending on if he'd lose his new friend or not, it may also make the list of Suckiest Twenty-Four Hours In The History of Jean.

He didn't move for a while, wishing the pain in his brain to subside. Then, with sudden realization, he jumped up from the bed, but his aching head kicked him back towards the mattress almost as fast as he rose. Hands tangled into his hair as he pressed his forehead into the sheets. Holy crap was he dizzy and did that hurt as hell. He needed to get his drinking habits under control. Well, maybe not that much, it's not like yesterday wasn't a exceptional situation, but jesus shitting christ, this ranked high on his worst hangovers list. Fuckity fuck fuck...

Releasing another groan, his aching knees on the cold floor barely added to his steadily worsening mood. He lifted his head again, recalling the revelation that'd made him jump up into this sea of torture to begin with. Steps and a closing door, yeah, he had definitely heard that sequence. Just great. Just fucking great. So Marco had already bolted, ey? Well goodie, at least he didn't have to fret any longer about ruining everything and losing his new friend because clearly he already had. Which must be some kind of record.

Jean felt double at this. He was happy to dodge the awkwardness of a Feelings themed conversation, but he had really enjoyed the other's company the night before. And it irked him that, despite having seemed like Marco had had a good time too, he would simply walk out and leave him behind like this. Actually, the more he reflected on it, the more 'irked' seemed to be an inappropriate expression. It actually fucking pissed him off a shitload. He glanced at the single cabinet by the window and the bedside tables, hoping to at least find some sort of note, and apology, a phone number, but nah, of course not. What a fucking asshole.

And then the toilet flushed. Jean blinked. Oh.

The door opened and Marco came back out, making Jean feel so fucking silly and embarrassed, he ended up hiding his face back into the bed.

“Good morning...” Marco spoke soft and very tentatively. He wondered whether it was because of last night or- “How're you feeling? Do you want a glass of water?” Ah, ok, so it really was just him being considerate. Awesome. Jean'd give a kidney to not have to talk about last night because he was not ready to think about stuff yet. His brain ached too much.

“I'm fucking fantastic. My head's throwing a party to celebrate... Yes please.” He finished without sarcasm. The freckled young man walked back into the bathroom and came back with the requested magic potion. Jean chucked it down, and it was strangely ineffective. Guess magic isn't real after all. Or perhaps what he needed was a magic pill instead.

“You don't have any painkillers on you by any chance, do you...?”

Marco shook his head compassionately. It only started to daunt Jean now how surprisingly not-grumpy the other was, and jealousy started to bubble in his stomach. “So you're the type to not have hangovers...?” He glared softly and the other took a seat on the bed, not too close nor too far away from where he was sitting on the cold floor, elbows still on the bedspread. Marco shrugged. “I don't have bad hangovers, but I pretty much forget everything I did while I was drunk...” He let the end of the sentence hang in the air, eyes locked apologetically onto Jean's.

Oh.

“Oh.” He said, intelectually.

“Yeah... sorry. I don't really remember anything after my third beer...”

Well, Jean figured that'd at least solve the problem he was dreading to talk about. All he had to do was pretend nothing happened and there would have to be no feeling festivities-

“So I don't exactly remember what happened yesterday night but I... I have a pretty good idea.” He gestured vaguely to the stains on his shirt, a little embarrassed. It took every inch of Jean's self control to not facepalm. He'd been so close to avoiding this. Why did the guy need to have basic deductive abilities?! Why?!

“Uhm, yeah...” Jean looked away, blushing, cursing the fact this had to be spoken about. “Well... we were pretty drunk, so...” He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to completely discard what'd happened, it'd been good and fun and he really liked Marco, but he honestly didn't know if he liked him... well, in 'that' way. He didn't have any experience with it, but had nothing against homosexual relationships, honestly not. He'd just never been really attracted to guys, and it didn't seem Marco was an exception. Not really... Sure, he was cute and sexy and he wouldn't put up much fight if they were to make out right now, but it was the stimulation that'd got him rolling, not any kind of especial preference for the man in question... so...

Oh yay, he was doing the overthinking thing, wasn't he? Great, always lovely to do that. God damn point was that he didn't want to hurt the other man's feelings, and if his experience had been different from his own, saying that it meant nothing could not only hurt, but scare him off too. He didn't think he wanted anything more, but he did know he didn't want that. He'd only really known Marco for a short while and they'd gotten along so absurdly well, Jean really wanted to get closer to the other man. The potential for an amazing friendship was buried here. He could smell it, and he didn't wanna ruin the chances to dig it up together.

So he said no more, forcing himself to reconnect his gaze with Marco's. The freckled man smiled. “Yeah. So... I guess it doesn't mean much... right?” He asks hopefully.

Jean sighs in relief, and Marco chuckles. “It seems we're on the same page here.” His smile appeared to fucking glow.

“Absolutely. You're awesome and whatnot, but I don't really...”

“Exactly. Thank god. Friends, yeah?”

“Totally.” Jean smiled in reply. The awkwardness seemed to have worn off, and his headache had subsided, at least a little.

Marco then proceeded to inform Jean of the approaching check-out time, and invited him to have some coffee in a nearby diner. Jean praised his lord and saviour, Marco Bodt, and accepted the offer most gracefully.

“Do they have wifi here?” Jean asked after his second cup, and Marco had to tear his stare away from the absurd speed with which the black liquid was disappearing down Jean's throat. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I think so...”

The brunet pulled out his phone and his finger slid around hesitantly on it. “Lemme see if I can get something useful out of this thing...”

“New?” Marco inquired, looking at the smartphone. Jean nodded. “I guess I'm a little behind the times, but...” He shrugged. A small chuckle made him look up, and he sneezed out a laugh as his eyes met the ancient nokia 3310 the other man was holding up. Amidst his entertainment, Jean lifted his hands in defeat.

When he turned his attention back to his phone, Marco shuffled a little, clearly eager to see what he was browsing, but not wanting to be rude. “I'm googling what to do when your apartment burns down...” He cleared up, giving the other permission to join his side, which he promptly did. They read a few articles, browsed a few yahoo answers, until Jean finally lay the phone onto the table.

“I don't have renter's insurance.” Marco said simply. Jean took a deep breath. “Same here. No family nearby I can crash at, and the only close friend in the vicinity...” He paused a little, face a disgusted grimace. “Let's say I'd change my mind about the park benches again.”

Marco nodded in understanding. “I have some good friends that live in town, but...”

Jean smirked. “No good either? Heck, next you'll tell me we're talking about the same person.”

“Oh, no no, it's just... they actually got married at the beginning of the month, so...”

“Wow, yeah, that sounds awkward!”

“Yeah. Well, I know I can ask them, but I wouldn't want to barge into their love-nest unannounced in the middle of the night, at least that...”

“Of course.”

A thoughtful silence drop on them. Jean finished his second cup of black coffee, pondering if he'd have another refill, while Marco twirled the last bit of his first cup, with milk and sugar, around at the bottom of it.

“I think I can rebound from this...” Jean mumbled, leaning on his fist. “But just finding and paying for a new place is gonna suck me dry.”

“Same here.”

“Do you want to room together?” The words were out of his mouth before he'd properly thought them over. Freckleface looked back at him surprised, and he felt his own eyes a bit bigger then usual too. Yet he didn't want to retract the proposal. He liked Marco, he was nice and fun and they got along well, and, as they'd just both made clear, it wasn't like they had many other friends in the area they could share costs with. Heck, the more he thought of it the more he figured it was a great idea. So his eyes soon relaxed, never unhooking Marco's gaze, settling into calmly awaiting a reply.

Marco was clearly considering it, uncertain but tempted.

“It'll help us get our shit together a lot faster. It's a good idea.” Jean added. 

This made Marco smile. “Yeah, but it's pretty cocky to say so yourself.” 

He just shrugged. It was true, so why pretend false modesty?

“Sure.” Marco replied, eyes closed and the gentlest of smiles on his features.

“Cool.” Jean replied, cheeks puffed and a bright outlook into the future.

“I'll ask my friends if we can stay with them while we search.”

“No, you don't have to do that, I'll-” The prospect of invading the home of some newlyweds he didn't even know didn't sit well with him at all. Whether he liked it or not, he wasn't the easiest person to be around, he knew that much. Not everybody liked him, and he had no problems with that, but he didn't want to burden some poor and unexpecting happy couple not even a week into their married life!

“Jean, if you didn't sleep on the benches yesterday, drunk off your butt, you really think you'll do it any other day?” Marco smiled, but he seemed challenging. He was already browsing for his friend's number in his phone, and paused with a finger raised dramatically above the call button.

“Well, no, I never said that, but-”

“The longer we waste in hotels, the longer it'll take to bounce back from this.” His eyes were almost reprimanding, and he sighed deeply, but somehow Jean knew it was all theatrics. Marco was very much aware of how he had Jean cornered, and he was just jerking him around at this point. Jean absolutely hated how he couldn't hate the man for it. How the bloody hell did he manage to be so horribly teasing and mean without losing any of his gentle and kind nature?

“Ugh, fine...”

Marco's smile made it's grand entrance, exactly as Jean had predicted, and he got up and swung the phone to his ear. “Don't worry about it,” he said happily, “they're really nice, I'm sure you'll like them.” And with a subtle yet reassuring pat on Jean's shoulder he got up and walked away to speak on the phone outside, where it wouldn't bother other people.

Jean sat alone, staring at his empty cup. Well, fuckit, he figured, and ordered another refill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~My beta-friend-reader has better things to do, therefore and consequently this likely has more lame jokes and bad puns than the previous chapters. Oh well...~~
> 
> (I always need to do a search to check I didn't accidentally use the word "boy" at some point. Considering they're in their mid-twenties here it doesn't really make any damn sense...)


	4. Attracting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everybody is gay, but certainly nobody is straight.  
> (In which Bertl is very insightful mostly coz I wanted to write more of him. /badreasonisbad)

Marco had not been wrong: Jean did like his friends. But it had, admittedly, taken a moment to get used to. They'd instantly agreed to take them in, no pretenses or conditions- in fact, when Marco returned to their table inside the diner, he even claimed they'd been disappointed he hadn't called them straight away. But when they'd arrived at their new temporary residence after a short subway trip, he hadn't been expecting to find two tall men to be the friends in question. Luckily he figured it out soon enough, before he'd made a fool out of himself. The guys in question were so natural with each other, Jean would never ever have guessed them to be a couple, especially not newlyweds.

Reiner was about 10 centimeters taller than Jean, and about double that wider. The man had shoulders like a boar. Jean wasn't surprised to hear he was a personal trainer at a local gym. He was a little surprised to savour how shockingly well the blonde cooked though. Marco described Reiner as a mama bear. Apparently he loved taking care of people, despite being capable of being a enormous butthead (exact words, oddly enough) and was the kind to shred to bits anybody that dared harm his friends. Jean was glad to find himself quickly, though by association, qualified as such.

Bertholdt was quite quiet, a soft smile being his most common response to inquiries, but he turned out to be surprisingly stubborn. He was finishing his masters degree in law, and Jean figured he would make a rather good impression in the courtroom, assuming he could get his occasional wavering self-confidence under control: because the most impressive thing about Bertholdt was his height. Damn the dude was tall. And yet, he wouldn't hurt a fly. (This theory was rejected as Marco told him about their Fly Hunt of '05, when each of them had killed easily 100 of the creatures during a notably warm and insect-infected summer.)

A bit closer observation made his mistake regarding their couple's relationship glaringly obvious though, and gentle touches, soft whispers and kind kisses gave light to a comfortable kind of intimacy that Jean'd never seen before. Reiner and Bertholdt trusted each other boundlessly, to the point where it was even the bulky blonde that nagged most at Marco for not having called him them right away, going on and on about using his social connections and teamwork and the power of friendship or what the fuck ever. The reason why this surprised Jean so was because, later than night, when they were side by side on the floor of the couple's living room under some old blankets (many apologies over that fact) talking about the most random of shits, it somehow became clear that Bertholdt was in fact Marco's ex. The freckled man didn't elaborate much, and Jean didn't push, mainly because he was still getting used to the fact he had, unexpectedly, found himself inside a small gay community all of a sudden. Gay, LGBT, BJGL, TLDR, something like that, Jean didn't care.

Admittedly, thinking back, he realized he should really not have been surprised by this. Had he and Marco not gotten into some funny business upon their very first meeting?! Yeah, that really should have been an indication of the man's possible sexual orientation. But because Jean hadn't felt his sexuality threatened by the encounter, he'd somehow assumed Marco was the same, and it'd just been a mutual stress relief thing. Which it still was, of course. Just that Marco was gay. Or something. He wasn't really sure what he was allowed to call people anymore, what with the one hundred and four varieties that had been brought to his attention in the last few years. He didn't mean to offend anybody, but he honestly didn't care to make a study out of the correct label for people based on who they fucked. None of his damn business, really.

On their third night there, they held a small get together and Jean got to meet the rest of Marco's friend circle, remnants of their high school and university years. Despite his previous beautiful speech about not giving a flying shit about who screwed who, it was still a little awkward. He'd never avoided gays, but just didn't know many. And by not many he meant none at all. So he simply couldn't help but notice, okay? It's like people with visible scars, or amputees or (fuck political correctness) black/white/asian people: if you're not used to it, you're gonna be aware of the differences, for fuck's sake. Doesn't mean he'd treat them any fucking different! But yeah, being the only straight dude at a get together was strange. The fact that gay jokes shouldn't be made lightly because well fuck, it would be considered leading people on or teasing... he was a little self-conscious and just... just felt a little out of his element.

Considering Marco, Bertl and Reiner, he'd expected the rest of their friends to be similarly welcoming and kind... which was... not exactly the case.

Ok, yeah, so Christa's kindness rivaled Marco's, and she was the sweetest little thing. But Jean would not elaborate further or be more free with a description of her, because despite her undeniable attractiveness, her girlfriend, Ymir, was really fucking scarily protective when it came to the blond little angel. Ymir was nice though, a little rough around the edges, a bit of a brute, but cool. Independently, Jean was fully convinced that if he dared to entertain any impure thoughts about her lover that she'd smell it and make milkshake out of his nuts.  


And then there was Annie. Annie was equally small and blond, but shared no further similarities to Christa at all. She was a childhood friend of Reiner's, apparently, and single. Clearly that was a relevant piece of information, because it was literally the first she was introduced with. Seems she went thought a pretty bad breakup a while ago, and was getting frustratingly sick of being alone. She didn't strike Jean as the type of girl that needed a partner at all times, but heck, what did he know.

Oh, also, Annie was bi. It had been said straight away- heck, he'd been warned of her possible advances, as if he'd mind. That's what he'd thought at first, but holy fuck was it awkward to have her freaking checking him out for the first part of the night, asking him curt questions like what he did for a living and what he'd studied and if he liked movies and where his parents lived- like she was weighting him, considering his worth, pondering if she'd try to pound on him or not. He was scarily aware that this girl would literally dominate him in case she did deem him worthy. He entertained the thought for a while, but was actually relieved when Marco teasingly told her to back off and the girl obliged.

With the seven of them in the living room, Jean and Marco's sleeping gear pushed away into a corner, the place seemed a lot smaller than it really was. And Jean was continuously embarrassed by how out of place he felt, surrounding by some of the coolest people he knew, but not being able to wrap himself around the fact he was the only damn straight one of all of them. It was like he was the outcast in this company. Although, it seemed like the rest wasn't aware of it... He'd realized Marco was gay when he heard about him and Bertholdt, but hadn't quite felt the need to point out that he wasn't. It was slowly becoming clear that he probably should have, you know, just randomly sneaked in a comment here or there, but it was too late now. Everybody seemed strangely convinced he was gay. It just felt freaking awkward. For a moment he felt strangely emphatic though, and vowed to (try to) never assume somebody's sexuality again. Out with the Straight-Until-Proven-Queer logic. (He knew his wouldn't last. In the end he'd fall back into the norm. He'd never have the patience to hold himself to that long enough for it to settle in.)

When 2 a.m. came and went, Jean stepped away from the party for a little while, leaving the apartment and building to catch some fresh air. Sitting on the steps in front of the complex, he took a deep breath, letting the queasy feel drift off with the chilly wind. It didn't matter. He knew it didn't matter. So why was it bothering him so much?

In the last days he'd gotten to know Marco a lot better, and honestly, he'd liked what he'd seen. His suspicions about their potential friendship were right on the money. And though he'd gotten a lot closer to the freckleface, he had found himself treasuring Bert and Reiner's phone numbers just as much. Somehow he was sure that, unless he fucked it up royally one way or another (should never underestimate his own stupidity), these friends were keepers. Heck, after staring at the newly obtained digits, he felt very tempted to delete all old contacts he had taken with to his new phone out of habit. Away with the high school buddies he never saw again, away with the university study friends that didn't answer his emails. And away with Eren's number while he was at it. Fucking Eren.

He felt ready to leave to much behind... Oh wow. Suddenly it dawned him just how much his life had changed in four measly days... and... yeah. Wow.  
Had he mentioned 'wow' yet? Ok, so, sure, it wasn't quite settled yet, but he'd gone from having one trustworthy friend (he'd come to accept, amidst painful groans, that, despite being a fucking asshole, Eren was trustworthy) to four, and that already meant the world to him. Ever since he'd finished his bachelor he'd been painfully aware of how hard it was to keep friends when you don't see them on a regular basis and everybody was just so fucking busy getting their life on track and working and screwing around or whatever it was his university friends did that kept them from ever having the time to just fucking hang out or something. And working in telemarketing, he hadn't really found his job to be the best setting for flourishing friendships either. He hadn't been joking when he'd told Marco he'd quit his shitty job, that very first day they met. His job was very much shitty, and his boss was the main reason for it. And thus, upon receiving complaints for having missed a day after his apartment became fucking ash, Jean had promptly resigned. He had some savings, so he had some time to find something else... who knows, maybe he finally nail something inside his fucking area for once... one could hope, right?

Soft steps went unnoticed until somebody sat next to him, breaking his reverie. “Hey...” Bertholdt smiled at him.

“Oh, hey...” He didn't really know what to say, and smiled back softly. The tall man had a strangely breakable feel about him, and Jean didn't really know how to act upon it. He'd already seen that his skin was a lot thicker than it seemed, but he still felt badly at ease. He didn't want to upset his host either. So far him and Marco hadn't had all that much luck finding a place, so it'd work very much in his favour to keep on the couple's good side for a while longer at least... oh gods why the fuck was he being so insecure and annoying today!

“You ok?”

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn't I be?” It came out harsher than he'd intended, but thankfully not harsh enough to drip of unintended sarcasm.

“You just didn't seem very comfortable in there.”

“Oh.”

“Takes one to know one, they say.”

“I guess.” The being uneasy part, he assumed. Because otherwise it sure as hell didn't apply to his situation at all. But whatever, he guessed.

“Jean, sorry if I'm wrong, but you're not actually gay, are you?”

Jean blinked. “No.” He answered dumbly, and got a sheepish smile as an answer.

“Thought so. You know it's not a problem, right?”

Jean started a nod, then stopped himself. Did he really? He opted out to give a little shrug instead.

“Marco may be a little disappointed though.”

“Heh.” Jean smirked, rising his shoulders again, but with a lot more emotion this time.

“Or maybe not.” He added mischievously, and Jean looked at him in surprise. He found the tall man's face the same as ever before, not a hint of ill intent showing on his features. A large hand patted Jean's shoulder, and then Bertholdt got up. “I'm going back in, then straight to bed. Some of us have to get up early tomorrow.”

Jean followed him back inside the building and to the apartment where Bert wished everybody a good night, pressed a quick (yet strangely sensual... not that Jean cared, of course) kiss onto Reiner's lips, and went to their bedroom. Following his example, the guests all left pretty quickly, with the exception of the two freeloaders. Marco picked up a can of beer, making ready to start cleaning, but Reiner stopped him. “Let's take care of that tomorrow. I just wanna tuck in now.”

“Get going then, we'll clean up here.” He said, softly pushing Reiner in direction of the bedroom. The muscled man seemed to consider it, and with the second push, a tipsy grin made it's way onto his face. “Alright. Thanks.” He walked off, and added, just before he disappeared. “We'll try to not make too much noise.”

Marco smirked deviously, though his eyes didn't shine. “Same here.”

And with a contained laugh, the door closed behind Reiner.

Jean and Marco cleaned up, made their beds, and fell asleep upon contact with the mattresses, neither noticing or acknowledging any sounds coming from the bedroom.

Two days later Jean and Marco finally found a place that suited both their needs and financial capacity, and soon after left Reiner and Bertholdt alone to enjoy their newlywed days again in undisturbed peace and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody is ~~reading this~~ offended, ait...? Sure hope not, was not the purpose... ^^U
> 
> Uh, I so wanna write a side thing to this Reiner and Bertholdt...
> 
> Also this chapter feels painfully bad for reasons I'm not really sure of. If you are, please do share!  
> Otherwise I'm just sitting here hoping my beta-reader will be able to give me some feedback when she gets to it. ._.


	5. Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living together is not-perfect perfection.

Their new apartment was small, but sunny. It had two bedrooms, one smaller and one bigger one (the bigger one not quite big either, though), a tiny bathroom and a kitchenette living room thing. The big windows made up for the crampedness to a certain extend and the affordable rent covering the rest of it. They had argued for quite a while about who would get which room, but at the suggestion of paying 60/40 instead of 50/50, Jean was quickly convinced to take the smaller of the two. The security deposit on the apartment and the first month's rent were predicted dents on his account, but the revival of a wardrobe and the excruciating lack of a laptop were making him have serious second thoughts concerning his shitty job. Which he'd pretty much rage quit. And was definitely not getting back. Great. So yeah, Jean was a bit tighter in the financial department than he'd expected, and thus gladly took the 10% reduction over an extra square meter of space.

Contrary to the unemployed Jean, dear Marco worked as an assistant, believe it or not, at a small veterinarian clinic on the outskirts of town. He didn't make big money, but could manage well, and surely had the most predictable, disgustingly fairy tale like job you could come up with. Seriously. When Marco's said so, Jean had blinked and literally face-palmed. He didn't know why, but this, added with Marco's kind nature and gorgeous body (others had said so. This was in no way Jean's opinion. Although he recalled scarily well how he'd thought the freckled guy had looked sexy as hell that one first night, not that it matters), made Marco seem like a perfect prince fucking charming that all the princesses would want to have. But couldn't. 'Cause he was gay. Ha!, the irony. 

Despite mister perfect being, well, perfect, it took quite a while to get used to living together. So much was new and different and just... slightly off. Marco was a fabulous roommate, really: he was open and considerate, could cook well (though Jean was better at it) and do laundry and didn't nag about having to clean.  
They shared all duties and everything was perfect!

Except for it wasn't. 

Small things, small habits, kept clashing. Like, Marco got all fucking hot and bothered if the glasses weren't dried properly and had stains. How could he seriously give a fuck about that? Also, he had that gorgeous habit of putting pretty-much-empty-seriously-only-has-2-more-sips-in-it cartons of milk and juice back into the fridge. He also didn't substitute the toilet paper roll when it was finished. 

It was like he was out to freaking piss Jean off! 

Especially because after doing all of these things, nagging and tricking and making Jean have to replace the toilet-paper roll himself, he'd dare to complain right back at him! "Don't leave the toilet seat up", he'd say. Seriously?! How hard was it to just tip the thing down if he needed to take a shit?! "Don't leave the window open when when leaving the house", he'd nag on. Like some fresh air could harm the place, what a moron. Oh, and he seemed absolutely decided upon refusing to wash the fucking white and coloured clothes separately! Ugh!

So, yeah. Living together was a new and enlightening experience to the both of them. Rooming together, that is. Whichever. It took a while, but slowly they found a balance between give and take, and being considerate to each other's pet peeves (although Jean vehemently refused to called them that, seen that, no!, all his annoyances were legit complaints that everybody in the world would agree with).

Outside of this, their cohabitation was... fuck, it was pretty great. Half the money, half the work, and great fucking company. They shared cleaning tasks for the common areas and always had breakfast and dinner together while indulging in horrible television (they were still living low-budget, so they made due with what they had). They'd cook together too, most of the times. Well, maybe cooking together wasn't the right way to say it. Unless either had something especial to do (say, work, or fixing resume's to try and find some fucking work), one would cook while the other helped with small tasks, like cutting vegetables or getting them both a beer (it's a task, shut up) and keep the other company during the meal-preparing endeavor. Even after a month of knowing each other, it seemed they had yet to run out of things to talk about. There was, somehow, just so much to discuss, and as they spoke on and on about whatever stupid topic came to mind, from philosophy to family to favourite underwear material (this seriously only came up because a local store was offering packs of five for the price of three and they were both lacking, okay), they got to know and cherish each other more too.

One day while Jean was cooking after they'd spent the afternoon at Reiner and Bertholdt's, he asked Marco a question that had been bothering him (though he would totally not admit it, absolutely not, it just randomly popped into his mind, that's all).

“So, between Bertholdt and Reiner, who tops?” He spoke as casually as he could. He knew enough about how gay sex worked, and surely knew the stereotypes, but had come to the annoying conclusion they didn't apply to real life more times than they fucking did. Useless shitty stereotypes. Or maybe he had infiltrated into a group of gays that were just doing it wrong. The fuck did he even know.

Marco almost choked on his beer as he burst out in laughter. “Oh gods, hahahaha, did you just seriously- have you- have you been fretting over that since you met them?!”

The brunet focused on the stew he was making, glaring the taste into being perfect. “Oh, fuck off, I'm just curious.”

“Okay, okay, I'll cut you some slack. Well...” He looked around, weighting his answer. “I'd say neither and both? Bert was always... euhm... versatile in that department. I doubt he'd settle for either really. Things tend to get boring when one does.” He shrugged, trying to cover up the clear tension he'd felt midway the answer. Jean picked up on it easily. He'd been acing his Marco-reading classes so far.

“What exactly happened between you two anyway?”

“Reiner happened, that's what.” Jean caught a glimpse of bitterness, but Marco cast a forced smile onto his face as he continued. “Bert and I were together for more than half a year when Reiner finally decided that yeah, he did bat for both teams. I didn't really stand a chance... They'd always had a chemistry I couldn't live up to, so... yeah.”

“Wow.” Jean frowned. “They didn't seem like such assholes, but what do I know, clearly I was wrong.”

Marco chuckled softly, looking almost apologetic. “They aren't really, but I think Reiner still feels somewhat bad about the whole thing. I wish he didn't...”

“No.” Jean looked unfazed.

“No?” Marco looked confused.

“You're happy he does. Fuck, you're glad and satisfied and he better fucking well feel like shit over it.”

“Oh, c'mon, it's not-”

“No.” Jean turned to face Marco and met him with a nearly chastising look. “Marco, don't be that guy.” Marco didn't get it. “Don't be so good all the time. Join me in Assholeland and realize how fucking awesome it is to be allowed to hate a little, for crying out loud. You have no idea how great it is here. Seriously. There's is nothing better than being an asshole with other assholes who wont think less of you over your assholeness 'cause they are just as fucking asshole-y as you.”

“Pffft- what?” Marco smiled, honestly now, trying to make sense of Jean's ramblings.

“C'mon, try it with me. You had a good thing and were happy with your boyfriend, right?”

“I never said tha-” Marco was about to oppose, when Jean's severe stare made him stop. He sighed a little and gave in. “Yeah.”

“And then his supposedly straight friend whooped in and just stole the guy away from you.”  
“Pretty much...”  
“And he's as asshole for doing that.”  
“Yeah...”  
“And your former boyfriend's an asshole for allowing it.”  
“In a way...”  
“And it's only fucking right that they feel guilty towards you when you're alone and they're gleefully married.”

At this Marco paused a little, eyes downcast. When his voice sounded again, it was strong and dark. “Yes.”

Jean smiled victoriously. “Welcome to Asshole-land. To celebrate your joining, you can have an extra serving tonight!” 

Marco smiled too, chuckled, and shook his head at that. “Well then, what about your shitty exes? Don't leave me hanging around in Assland all alone.” The freckled man coaxed the other.

“It's Asshole-land, not Assland. Dickwad.”  
“Answer the question, Shitface.”

“Ugh, fine. I had a girlfriend in high-school. We broke up because we went to different colleges on approximately different corners of the fucking universe. And no I don't care if the universe has corners or not,” he cut in to avoid the interruption he could see on Marco's lips, “so yeah, no drama there. There was somebody I was really interested in during university though, but... how to say this kindly... she was a bit of a giant slut so that didn't last.”

“Oh, wow, what happened?” The black haired man seemed truly interested.

“Well, we screwed around a few times, and I thought it'd be nice to be with her, you know, properly rather than random hookups or so, but she didn't seem awfully interested. Soon became clear I wasn't by far the only one she was fucking around with. I mean, it's her life, she can do whatever the fuck she wants, you know, whatever, but it definitely threw me off and killed any desire to pursue her, that's for sure... ”

“Huh...”

“Outside of that, just some one-night-stands and short flings that may or may not have gotten embarrassingly out of hand and yes my actions may have bordered on stalking but no we're not talking about that now because stew tastes fucking bad when exposed to too much shame.”

“I see.” Marco chuckled and let it be, bless him, then pulled himself onto the counter next to the stove (he's starting building the habit of doing this. Jean didn't find it oddly endearing at all. Probably.), carrying a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what's the coming out story like?”

Ait. Jean should have seen that one coming. Well, now was as good a time as any to let the cat out of the bag. It was starting to hiss and scratch horribly at the fabric anyway...

“I don't have one.” He said, trying, for the second time that night, to sound as casual as he could.

“You don't...” Then Marco's eyes grew big in understanding, and he stared at Jean in a nearly petrified manner. The brunet focused on stirring the stew. He suddenly needed all his damn attention on the task. Yap.

“Jean, are you telling me... so... you're not gay?” Jean shook his head. “Not even bi?” Another denial. “Pan?” More rejection. “So...” Marco was pale now. “Oh shit. I am the fucking worst person ever...”

Well, Jean wasn't expecting that. He turned to the other, brow crooked. “Eh?”

Hiding his face in his hands, Marco was mumbling to himself. “Oh fuck I am horrible horrible horrible...”

Jean was lost. “What, why?”

Marco finally looked at him. “If you're straight, then, does that mean that... you know... that thing between us... I mean, I'm pretty sure I didn't force you, but... was that really your... first and only experience with a guy?”

“Oh. Yeah it was... but whatever, you know, we were just drunk and-”

“And I don't even fucking remember. Oh man, I suck so fucking bad!” He buried his face in his hands once more.

Oh. Like that. Right. That made sense, Jean guessed. Though he hadn't even thought about that at all. He hadn't fretted about Marco forgetting. And he hadn't fretted about having fooled around with a guy either. He hadn't considered it as things worth fretting over at all. Still didn't, in fact.

He patted Marco on the shoulder. “Nah, man, it's ok, dun worry about it. You'll just have to make up for it next time.” He joked. But the moment he said it he clenched his eyes shut and willed the words to retreat into his mouth. Or up his ass. Where they sounded like they'd come from. Oh my fucking god.

Thankfully, Marco was fucking awesome. So, so fucking awesome. He smiled softly, and tilted his head. “Don't think I'll get the chance for that, but I can promise I'll never do it again?” He ended teasingly.

Jean felt his face heat up at the sight, no fucking idea why. He forced his eyes back to their dinner. He felt strange. Warm, safe, happy. But none of the relief he'd expected at having finally said it. He smiled to himself, still focused on the food, and spoke without much enthusiasm.

“Haha, yeah...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not beta'd (except for the 3+ times I reread it before gathering the courage to post)


	6. Confusing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everybody is confused and we learn a little about Jean's stalking history and tendency for parental neglect. (poor parents)

Ever since that fateful night when he'd come out (oh god that sounds so strange) to Marco, Jean had been feeling off. It started slowly and only got worse as time ticked by, and he found his eyes lingering, his hands itching to touch and hold physical contact just a little longer, his whole being craving to be around Marco just a little bit more. He cursed the fact that he'd found a job at a bar, because due to that he worked late into the night and started seeing the other man a lot less than before.

Now, Jean could be a little stupid at times, whatever, but he wasn't plain fucking retarded. He recognized these desires. He'd been here before, he knew exactly what it was: lingering attachment to a one-night-stand. He didn't quite understand why it'd only caught up with him now, but maybe it was seeing Marco is his boxers in the morning, hair tussled and the most adorable morning blush hiding his freckles. Or maybe it was the fact he hadn't gotten any fucking action since their little adventure. Yeah, that one seemed more likely.

Last time he'd felt connected to somebody that was clearly just a one night thing he'd ended up with a blue eye, some small bruises and a new shitty friend. It was about a year and a half ago that he met Mikasa at a bar. She had been the most fucking gorgeous thing he'd ever seen, and he'd approached her without a second to spare. At first he thought he stood no chance, seen her near complete disregard of him, but when she left, she'd asked if he was coming. Oh hell yeah! Cue the clouds breaking and a fucking angel descending. He'd thought he was in heaven. But it was cut off nearly immediately when she made it painfully clear she wasn't out to do much more than fool around. Actually, her exact words were, in an aching deadpan, “I don't like you, but you're pretty hot. If you want to have sex I wouldn't mind.”

Jean knew that it was a bad idea. But it wouldn't be the first time he did something he knew was fucking stupid. Despite her (let's be honest here) horrible personality that didn't suit him at all, she was just too fucking beautiful to ignore. And thus they went back to hers and did the do. It was fucking (well yes that too) magnificent. Mikasa was hot hot hot and, though it sounds repetitive, spicy as well, almost dominant. Jean was pretty sure it was the best sex he'd ever had. Of course, not that this mattered to the gal when she promptly told him that it was fun and bye with a clear undertone of “we're done, see you again never.” But the craving to see and touch her didn't cease. And... well, he didn't take the rejection quite as elegantly as he would have liked.

In fact, the couple of weeks that followed were some of the more embarrassing he could remember. He'd sought her out, repeatedly, and got the coldest of shoulders, repeatedly, until she finally planted her fist right into his face. Repeatedly. Three times to be especific. And it would be great if that was the end of the story, with him learning his lession and backing off. Sadly it wasn't.

A few days later he went to her house, sadly not yet realizing how he was blatantly stalking the girl. He was too stuck on her, he really really did like her (body and passionate lovemaking?) that much! He rang the doorbell and a dark brown haired dude opened the door, blue-green eyes burning into his. Jean, using the advantage of his height, tried to look impressive as he asked who this person was. Eren said his name was Eren. And that Jean was to leave Mikasa the fuck alone from that moment on. Jean asked who the fuck Eren thought he was. Eren answered that he was Mikasa's childhood friend and asked confirmation that Jean was the fuckface that had been stalking her. Jean was appalled by the idea of him being a stalker, and hissed angry insults at the slightly shorter male. Similar insults were returned in kind, and a back and worth of cuss-words extended until Eren threw the first punch. Jean retaliated, but before things got to escalate they were successively treated to a massive kick to stomach.

Jean crumpled and looked up to see a glaring Mikasa. “You're both annoying.” She said, and closed the door on their faces.  
Turned out Eren didn't have his keys or wallet or mobile on him, and Mikasa refused to reopen the door for him. After the green eyed monster took out some frustration on Jean, and vice versa, the two awkwardly agreed they could use a beer. Seen as Eren didn't have any money, Jean offered to pay, and somehow they ended up becoming friends. Hateful friends. Vent friends? Whatever.

Eren still made great efforts to keep Jean away from Mikasa, but Jean didn't try to get close again. It took him a while to get over her, and when he realized how horrible and pathetic he'd been, he'd met up with her only once more to apologize. He'd kept away from her ever since, not wanting to rekindle the interest.

And now with Marco he felt a very similar desire to be together and connected. Not physically, necessarily, it was mostly a desire for his company... though maybe the physical thing wouldn't be bad either. Maybe. Just maybe.

Ok, no, it wouldn't be bad at all. More like fucking awesome.

Fuck.

He struggled with his feelings for longer than he'd like to accept, trying to figure out where the living fucking hell this shit was even coming from. He blamed the fact that they had already gotten each other off once, then the fact that he hadn't been together with anybody since, then he just blamed Marco and his stupid sexiness and finally he blamed himself for falling for the guy.

Well shit. Guess the hung-up-on-one-night-stand isn't flying.

Meanwhile, Marco wasn't quite oblivious to what the other was struggling with, but he didn't dare make a move. He caught Jean's stares, noticed his touches linger, chuckled at how the guy spoke fondly of his work but was always grumpy when he had to leave. Marco caught on to all these little hints, but he thought he was projecting. He'd though Jean was hot that first night they spend together, and had honestly never stopped thinking so. He'd wholeheartedly agreed with keeping it an one night thing mostly because he'd felt absolutely unprepared for a relationship, what with the stress of losing his apartment-- 

Oh what beautiful lies. 

He'd simply still been recovering from Bert's marriage. He was over the tall man, he really was, but maybe not completely. They were still friends, and he was still sexy and awesome and his high-school crush that had been stolen from him. And was now married.  
So bothered, it wouldn't have been smart or fair to start a new relationship right then, and he figured they could always decide to give it a go later if they wanted. But then suddenly Jean was straight, and Marco's plans were flushed down the drain.

Jean was acting strange though, that was undeniable. But Marco had no clue as to what he could, or was supposed to do with the information. More than once had he been about to bring it up, point it out or just slam their damned lips together!

But he couldn't do it. 

He'd liked Jean at the beginning, but he liked him so much more now. Heck, it bordered on love, he was pretty damn sure. But he felt like it didn't necessarily needed to take a sexual connotation? Not if that endangered everything... Because, yeah, he didn't mean to be a walking talking gay cliché, but he was afraid to lose his new best friend, crush and roommate all in one go, case things went south. Jean was just being way too confusing, and Marco simply couldn't get himself to confirm his suspicions, despite all that he thought he probably saw.

And then came the holiday season. Everybody was busy and invited to everywhere and somewhere amidst the mess Jean got a call from his mom, who asked curiously who that was in the background.

“Oh, just Marco.”

'Just me?', Marco mouthed, feigning offense, before returning to the dishes and humming a corny Christmas tune, a little louder than strictly necessary. Jean rolled his eyes.

“Marco?”

“Yes ma, you know, Marco, my roommate.”

“Since when do you have a roommate? You never tell me anything, gosh...”

Jean's face went pale. “Mom... when did we last talk?”

“I'm not sure, dear, but you know you can pick up the phone to call us too sometimes.”

“I'm serious, ma.”

“Probably a month ago or so? I'm not sure. You got a girlfriend yet?”

Suddenly exhausted, Jean rubbed his forehead and sat down heavily on the couch. “What's wrong?” Freckleface asked. Jean just shook his head.

“No, but, euhm, I moved and am rooming with Marco now. We split the rent and chores and it's nice.” He avoiding the burning look of daunting realization shot at him from across the room.

“Oh. I would say that would warrant a call. But I guess I'm wrong.”

“Yeah... I also kind of quit my job and am working at a bar at the moment.”

“Aha. Well, you hated that job anyway. This suiting you better then?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, let me talk to this Marco fellow.”

“What, ma, no, why do you want to-”

“Oh, don't be like that, Jean. I'm letting you get away with this so at least indulge me a little.”

“Yeah, as if you wont give me an earful on Christmas over this anyway! I'm sorry ok, but I don't see why you'd want to-”

“Listen young man, I want to at least talk with the guy you're living with. Or do we have to get in the car and drive over there? Because so help me god I will wake you father right now and do it.”

Jean squirmed, and blood rushed to his face. “Mom, we're not living together, we're just-”

And then suddenly Marco stood in front of him, towel he'd just used to dry his hands on swung over his shoulder, hand extended for the phone, a small devilish smile on his lips.  
Before his mother could rant any further, he sighed into the phone. “Okay.” He gave in, and handed the phone over.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Kirschtein, this is Marco Bodt.”

“Why, I like you already. Good afternoon to you too young man.”

“Thank you.” Marco smiled and took a relaxed seat on the couch next to a beet red Jean who was trying to disappear into the pillows.

“So, tell me honestly, is my boy behaving and doing his part? God knows I tried to raise him right but he sure was a challenge.”

“Hahah, yes ma'am, he is, don't worry. We've become good friends and I greatly enjoy your son's company.” Jean glared at him from the corner of his eyes but kept quiet.

“Good. Now tell me, are you and my boy sleeping together?”

Wow-- ... well, that was not a question he'd expected. Not that upfront at least. And he was surprised by how uncomfortable he was answering it. He also may or may not have felt the blush rush to his face.

“No ma'am.”

“You sound disappointed...”

Ok, what was wrong with this lady?! He stared at Jean, brow furrowed, and the other stared back not understanding. He didn't know what to answer, so he figured he'd wait it out just a little while longer...

“Alright, I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable. Would you put by son back on for me, please dear?”

“Of course. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye and good luck.”

And Marco passed the phone back as more blood soared to his cheeks, then quickly got up to return to the dishes. What the bloody hell was that?  
Jean accepted the phone, frowning at him, and quickly said his goodbyes.

“What the fuck did she say?” Was the first thing he asked, moving over to meet Marco at the sink.

“Euhm... nothing much.” Marco's voice was tiny as he focused all his attention on scrubbing pots.

“Nothing doesn't usually make you blush. She didn't say anything bad, did she?” He stood half behind him, looking at the task, then at the freckled cheeks, then back to the man's hands. He inched a little closer.

“No, no no, she just said... euhm...”

Jean was standing too close. Marco could feel his breath on his neck, the ghost of his lips and hands over his, heat pulling to both his face and groin. It turned him on, and was good, but oh so bad.

He really was standing too close. Jean could almost taste Marco's neck, wanted to push the soap off the slender fingers and intertwine them with his. He wanted to touch, and the foresight excited him... so he gave in. He couldn't quite remember why he shouldn't, and leaned his head forward, his lips softly kissing the freckles peaking from under the shirt on the man's shoulders.

“Bathroom!” Marco abruptly said, and dashed away, leaving Jean to stand perplexed, the freckles suddenly gone. Slowly the brunet blinked his eyes, now staring at the half-finished dishes. Without a thought, he dipped his hands into the cooling water and finished what his friend had started, automatically tuning out of the previous atmosphere.

While Marco sat on the toilet, looking at his boner, beating himself up about what he'd just done. Why the flying fuck had the ran off? Ok, at the moment he'd somewhat questioned whether he'd imagined the contact or if it were real, and the jolt in his pants had scared him but for fuck's sake (literally), he was too old for this shit! He wasn't a 16 year old virgin anymore for crying out loud!

He buried his face in his hands and waited for his arousal to go down, feel way too self-conscious to rub one out.

When he finally went back to the living room/kitchen, Jean was drying and putting away the last dishes, and the mood had been put away just as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a little all over the place, hahahaaaaa... anyway, next chapter is the last!
> 
> ALSO I'd just like to say THANK YOU to everybody who has been reading this and giving kudos and especially commenting! You guys make me happy c':


	7. Loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two young men remember what it is to communicate instead of dancing around each other.  
> (a rare occurrence in romantic stories, I know)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do I make words do the sex

While they fell back into normality pretty easily, it wasn't as if something hadn't changed between Jean and Marco after that night. They were a little more careful, a little more aware, a little more cautious of their actions with each other. Well, mostly Marco was so with Jean. Jean was strangely unaware of Marco's change of attitude, now failing his Marco Reading exams. He was trying too focused on something else, trying his best to not give in to his cravings mainly because of how fabulously great it had gone the last time he had, a.k.a., the Mikasa Disaster.

And so there was a stalemate where neither dared to touch lightly or be too close, and both pretended nothing had changed. It didn't last long.

Marco was frustrated. The longer passed the more he was convinced that Jean liked him, he could feel the tension stuck in their apartment. No open window could clear it. But Jean insisted he was straight. Or, better, had insisted. Now Marco didn't know how much thought Jean'd put into his chosen label but with such contrasting information he found himself incapable of acting at all. Because if he was wrong... guh! But he wasn't! … right?

A certain night he got home late, past 9 p.m., and Jean was already preparing dinner (his shift started at 10). A passing greeting and he threw his things into his room and quickly changed into something more comfortable before strolling back out into the common area. He walked over to Jean and faced a regular inner struggle, as he was overcome with the enormous desire to wrap his arms around the brunet and kiss his neck as a welcome. Instead, he walked to the part of the counter next to the stove and pulled himself up to his regular spot. “So, what are we having tonight? I'm starving.” He peered into the pots and pans.

Jean gave him little more than a sideways glance. He still found the freckled man's habit of siting there while he cooked pathetically endearing. No, not endearing, fuck that. Cute, adorable, attractive. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. He shouldn't be thinking that. “'Tatoes, broccoli with cheese, meatballs. It's almost done. How was your day?”

Oh right, there'd been a reason he was late. “Good, except for this one thing... What is the policy on animals here, do you recall?”

“I wouldn't know.” He eyed the other suspiciously. “Do I hear you say you need to take your work home...?”

“Well, there is this cat...” Marco paused and tried to read Jean's expression, but couldn't quite make sense of the face he wore. “And she's the absolute sweetest thing, but she got into an accident a few days ago, a fight with a dog, and she lost her right eye and front paw. She's recovering fine but the owners...”

“Are shitholes that don't deserve to own pets and should just rot in a gutter somewhere?”

“Not at all, they brought her in after all, and they paid for the operation. They just can't provide the extra care she'll need while recovering and after... so I was wondering if you'd mind if she stayed here. Just for a while, to keep a better eye on her. Dr. Hanji took her with tonight, but she owns two big rottweilers so it would be nice to be able to keep her somewhere else, just for the nights...”

“Sure.” Jean didn't care much about whether they were allowed to keep pets or not, 'cause fuck the rules and all, and it seemed that part of the matter had already skipped the freckled mind.

“Really?” Marco smiled. No, scratch that, he fucking beamed, Jean could feel the heat on his cheek, careful not to meet the sight directly. (Probably better, it might just scorch his eyes, gods)

“Fuck yeah. I love cats. Never could have any pets 'cause dad's allergic to like, everything, for fuck's sake, but yeah, definitely. What's the cat's name?” he dared look at the freckled face now.  
Wrong choice though.  
Marco was still irradiating warmth and happiness, his eyes almost closed, mouth stretched into a happy smile, lips flowing as he spoke. 

“Name's Jema. It's a three year old brown tabby.”

His legs were bouncing softly off the cupboard below and he was leaning just a little forward, his hair falling more into his face than usual. Jean felt his throat go dry and his stomach curl together at the sight.

Fuck this.

He put the fork he was holding down, turned the gas low, and faced his roommate. Placing a gentle right hand on Marco's left knee, his left rising to stroke his right cheek then cup behind his ear, fingers in his neck, he pulled him close enough to push his lips against that burning smile. Jean closed his eyes into the kiss, losing himself in the contact. He felt his whole body tingling excitedly as he spread his lips a little and closed them again, did this over and over again, soft kisses to a relaxed pair. He could feel Marco's breath slip between his lips, tickle his own, stealing his breath away, pausing his heart.

“Jean...” The lips moved, grazed his, ever so lightly, and with a jump Jean's heart got back to work. He pulled back a little, chest pounding painfully, embarrassed by his own reaction he fought to find the willpower to meet the hazel brown eyes. He found it only as slender fingers touched his jaw, jolting electricity cursing though them, his skin hypersensitive as he did as the hand commanded and met the owner's eyes.

“Are you sure...?” Marco asked, both worry and excitement transparent in his voice. He needed his suspicions properly confirmed, doubt and confusion nestled deep in his mind. He needed it spelled out before he'd feel any confidence in the matter.

The soft voice jumped right at Jean's groin.

Well fuck, he got it bad.

Jean nodded, eyes shining with desire, and halfway through the movement their lips were already reattached, but this time by mutual effort. A few soft kisses, lips opening slightly and closing around each other, opening more and more, clinging to each other as Marco's tongue sneaked out and licked at the inside of Jean's lips. A choked breath escaped the brunet, and he met the tongue with his own, allowing it passage into his mouth, twirling around it as it explored inside him, following it back home and delved around there too. it was deep and passionate and messy, but they kept this up, back and forth, twirling and teasing and savouring each other, until they finally ran out of air and separated with wild gasps.

Catching his breath, both from the kiss and from the excitement, Jean leaned his head against Marco's shoulder and let his hands drop down to the other's knees. which he was standing in-between. With his hands on them. As they opened. To make room for him.

He felt his dick pressing hard against his jeans.

Marco leaned his head against Jean's, folding his arms around his shoulders and keep them close together. He would have gloated to himself about how he had been right and should have trusted himself and so and so on, but that'd have to wait, for he was far too busy floating in pure glee. He wasn't even preoccupied with teasing Jean about the now obvious indecisiveness.

“My desire for your delicious dinner just decreased exponentially. Sorry.” Marco teased, rubbing little circles into the nape of Jean's neck. 

Jean, feeling far less poetic, couldn't but agree. “I can't even care. I'm so fucking hard right now.”

Marco laughed, puling Jean closer with his arms and, as if to fuel the brunet's previous statement, his legs too, wrapping himself completely around the slightly shorter male. Jean snorted, also entertained, but not less excited. Not any more poetic either. “Yeah, that's not helping.”

“Oh green grasshopper you, how little you know.” He inched closer to Jean's ear, and bit softly on his earlobe while he whispered, “It will help. We just need to get some fabric out of the way first.”

“Shit.” Was all Jean could utter, and he launched back into Marco's mouth, trying to devour the other who was still chuckling. And holy fucking cheesecakes, when the freckled man paused his entertained noises, it was only to pull Jean closed and grind their crotches together, each of them clearly feeling the distinct form of the other's arousal, trousers making no difference at all. But it was all the hotter, somehow, compared to their first fling. This was so much better. Now that they could properly appreciate what they held, neither was willing to separate.

Jean's hands slipped up Marco's legs to his hips and, holding him flushed against him, rutted relentlessly. He moaned softly, eager and immeasurably excited, closed his eyes and drank in the soft gasps Marco released by his ear. 

It wasn't long before Marco's hands were on his stomach, making his belly heat up and burn under his touch, and it would have felt so fucking good, if not for the soft pressure that pushed him away. Jean groaned an objection, but backed off slowly, disappointed at the stop. Definitely not pouting.

The freckled man snorted softly. Clearly entertained. “Hahaha, I just want to take off your pants, don't be mad~”

The brunet's intense face fell, “Oh,” he managed, blankly, before his breath got stuck in his throat due to the other man's hands on his fly just as Marco's mouth connected with his neck. Tiny kisses, languid licks, nibbles that couldn't be called anything but stupidly cute; all these had Jean closing his eyes and pulling back his head to expose his neck, giving the other clear access to 'oh god yes please keep doing that'. The warm breath from the other's chuckle was just as exciting as the rest, surprisingly.

Then Jean's trousers were pulled down to his thighs, his briefs tented by his erection, and the pleased sound Marco gave breath to had Jean snap his head in front to meet the other's eyes, just in time to catch a swift tongue wetting the other's lips, sending a shudder to his cock.

“Shit, you're sexy.” He spoke before he could stop himself, and felt his face turn redder than a tomato at the realization of his words.

“Thank you.” Marco fucking smiled. Holy shit. “Likewise.” He added, smile turned to a smirk, and Jean stared at him. He stared so hard, as if frozen, that Marco got a small blush himself, but also felt strangely incited to put on a show by the way the honey eyes were stuck on his figure... 

He brought his hand to his own face, gently traced a finger to his mouth, kissed it and slid it teasingly over his shining lower lips. Jean's eyes grew big, lust clear in them, and he swallowed visibly as Marco lowered his hand sensually down his chin, lifted it to expose his neck, tracing the skin with his long elegant fingers, then collected his hand loosely as it hoovered down his covered chest and abs. Jean's eyes were stuck on the movement, glued to the tip of Marco's index, throat achingly dry as the hand slid down all the way to the other's crotch, where it hooked a thumb under the trousers and rubbed back and forth. Both of their breaths became ragged, and then finally the hand undid the button, painfully slowly pulled down the zipper, and a bulge was freed.

Jean was surprised to find himself bent forwards, his nose pressed against the volume lovingly. He hadn't noticed himself dropping to his knees, but there he was, nuzzling Marco's dick through the thin fabric of his underwear. Strangely enough he was very disinclined to back away. So he did the first thing he could think of and mouthed at the bulge, feeling the heat under it on his lips, pressing kisses against the cotton as he traced and discovered the form and curve of the as of yet hidden cock.

Meanwhile, Marco was somewhere a few heavens past the 7th. He couldn't believe the way Jean was touching him, intimate and caring, nearly reverent. Jean, who claimed to have been straight about a week ago. And damned be if it wasn't the hottest sight he'd ever faced in his entire life. His cock strained against his underwear in agreement. He was completely overtaken, and found himself unable to do anything at all as Jean pulled his trousers down his thighs to his ankles, drawing tiny circles on his hips and playing with the rim of his boxers as he pushed away the sweater wish his nose, just enough to kiss the toned stomach bellow...

Without too much ado, Jean pulled down the underwear and Marco's hard dick sprung lose against his sweater. The freckled man let loose a loud moan, and this woke the brunet from his trance. He found himself staring at the hard member, not disgusting, quite appealing in fact, but suddenly he was overly self-conscious, and had no idea at all what to do. He'd never sucked dick before. He never even thought he'd want to suck dick before! But there he was, kneeling in front of his roommate, desperate to do something, but having absolutely no fucking idea of what. Oh shit. He tried to think back on the times he'd received head, but his scumbag brain wouldn't tell him more than it being a 'pleasurable experience'. 'Awesome shit'. 'You should get more or that'. No useful information regarding the details of how it had gone at all. Oh gods. What now?!

Before panic could conquer his bravado completely, two soft hands engulfed his face and pulled him up. Marco had somehow sensed the change and taken it upon himself to save his roommate (and the moment) by pulling him in for a long, deep kiss, kicking off his trousers from one of his feet so he could wrap his legs around his waist once more. As tongues twirled and rubbed against each other, saliva coating their lips, Marco's heels pushed at Jean's jeans, pushing them further down, then tried to do the same with the underwear- quite unsuccessfully. Thankfully it doesn't take long for a helping hand to approach, and, recovering some of his confidence, Jean pushes his briefs down too, his own erection now free to feel the cold air.

Imitating Marco in a vague recollection of their first night, Jean pushed close and wrapped his hand around both of them, rubbing them together. It's pathetic and absurdly good, Jean noticed, as the freckled man pushed softly up, his length dragging long Jean's causing his whole body to shudder. He added his own effort, twisting his pulse, rubbing the heads with his thumb, spreading the pre-come. Their kiss had broken, their foreheads now together, faces turned downwards, observing their junction or eyes closed to better enjoy, hot breaths mingling in the space between then.

And yet Jean felt strangely unsatisfied. Perhaps it was better when he was drunk off his ass, or his stupid possessiveness of Marco was finally taking his toll. Whatever it was, this wasn't enough. He wanted-

Movement stopped and Marco's hand was atop his own. “More...” The lips of the taller man spoke in a tone so lewd Jean would have not believed possible if he wasn't witnessing it. His erection throbbed further at the sound. “I want more...” Marco raised his eyes to meet his, and as the distance between their lips decreased Jean kissed him, almost automatically, not deep but very much felt. Like it was the only reaction he could possibly have had.

Marco hummed pleased, and Jean smiled. “I was thinking the same.”

“We could move to a bed...” Followed the suggestion, as a burning hot finger caressed Jean's neck, sending more hot shivers down his spine.

For reasons beyond his own understanding, Jean's eyes fell on the clock on the wall to his left. “I have to go to work in 15 minutes...” He answered breathlessly, surprised by his own reply. He wanted this. Why had he just said that?

“And I guess I would be a horrible friend to suggest you call in sick...” Marco offered cautiously, stuck somewhere between teasing and disappointment, but inching forward to capture Jean's soft lips once more. Definitely inviting.

Jean hummed. He realized what his problem was. He was nervous. Nervous as fucking hell. Possibly more nervous he'd been when he was 17, a virgin, and laying on top a naked girl in her room while her parents had just unexpectedly gotten home early. As nervous as he would be if somebody shoved a guitar in his hand and told him to play bass for Metallica while wearing a tutu and high heels on a world stage. 

“I dunno what to do...” He acknowledges finally, cheeks red with the embarrassing truth, but too excited to walk away, too eager with the prospect to run off and try to shove the whole thing under a rug.

“I'll teach you.” Marco's answer comes immediately. “As long as you tells your boss you're too busy fucking your roommate to come to work.” Jean snorted cynically at this. Yeah, not happening. “Unless he wants you to come _at_ work. But I don't think that'd make for a very good first impression on my part.”

Jean laughed, the bad pun lifting the mood. He pressed his lips playfully against the other ones. “And if I get fired for leaving my boss hanging last minute?”

Marco leaned back on his arms. “I suppose nobody likes to be left hanging...” He shot a glance at their cocks, still pressed together between them, slowly shriveling due to the pause and biting cold.

Jean's internal struggle was obvious on his face. He clearly wanted to wrap this up decently, and go do all the scary great things the freckleface could teach him, but he did like his job, and he was good at it, and it payed well (enough), and he was pretty sure his boss didn't like him quite well enough that he'd let this slide.

Thankfully, Marco put an end to his suffering. “Alright, I'm sorry.” He pecked Jean on the lips. “You're wasting time you could be having dinner. I'm mostly soft by now anyway, but considering I'm not wasted today, I'm pretty sure I'll remember to ask for a continuation later on.” He winked.

The brunet couldn't help but laugh at that, and he wrapped his arms around Marco, hugging him tight. “You're fucking horrible.” He spoke without any fire.

“You mean 'adorable', right?”

“Nope.”

“Well, you need to rethink the whole being straight thing.”

“Maybe. But I can't be bothered to waste time on that. Too many options.”

“Maybe you're marcosexual.” The man in question rose his eyebrows suggestively.

Jean smiled, oddly unaffected by the horrible pun. “Who knows. Maybe I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> un-beta'd ~~and unconvinced~~ as have all been lately.
> 
> I was gonna make them screw. I tried. I really did. ~~But they didn't wanna do it in front of me. Prudes~~ I considered trying to write another chapter to have them do the do, but they'd probably be interrupted halfway by a phone-call or fire alarm or the cat'd be watching or something similarly stupid, knowing me. Figured it wasn't worth it. After all, characters hugging and making really bad and unoriginal puns while their dicks are hanging out in the cold are the best ends, am I rait? 8D   
>  *hides*


End file.
